


Monsters & Men

by PeakyFookinBlinders (Sherlocked729)



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, John Simcoe Isn't A Sadistic Monster Anymore, M/M, Not s4e10 compliant, PTSD, Post War, Protective boys, Soft Boy Simcoe, Suicide Attempt, Temporarily Unrequited Love, period-typical homophobic attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlocked729/pseuds/PeakyFookinBlinders
Summary: Set post-war.  Even though the Americans won the war, everyone is reeling in their own way. Even John Simcoe can't deny his own pain. He saves Abraham from his own hand, but he wants more than anything to be a different person than he was in the war. He wants to be a living, breathing, loving, human being. The only problem is that he can't control who he loves, even if that person is someone who has a long and bloody history with.
Relationships: (but it's not major), Abraham Woodhull/John Graves Simcoe, Benjamin Tallmadge & Abraham Woodhull, Caleb Brewster/Anna Strong
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	1. grieving

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm about five years too late to write a fic for Turn, but here I am anyway! This is my first Turn fanfic.
> 
> I couldn't find a fic pairing for John Simcoe/Abraham Woodhull so I decided to make one. Please forgive me if things are inaccurate or if there are typos. I know this is apparently an unpopular or unlikely pairing, but it is one that I've thought about A LOT. Comment if you like it! Subscribe if you want to be notified when I update!

**. . .**

  
The war was over, but John didn’t want to go back to his birthplace of India, or go to Canada to become the new Governor. He felt a nostalgia he couldn’t identify; it was like he was homesick for a place to call home that didn’t yet exist.

He looked around at his surroundings, feeling empty and solemn. At least when there were gunshots and shouts, he knew what his job was. Now that there was naught but marching and celebrations around him, he didn’t know where he belonged, and a loud voice in the back of his head told him that maybe he didn’t belong anywhere on this green earth anymore.

He regretted everything he had ever done, every life he had ever taken, all pain that he had caused all these long years; this was a statement he never imagined that he would believe. Before everything he had done had been for King and Country, and now he felt like he didn’t belong to a King, and he was a man without a Country.

“We’re heading up north, Captain Simcoe, if you’d like to lead us once more,” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

He glanced up to see one of the men he had led in the Queen’s Rangers looking down at him from a horse, defeat on his own face, hope in his eyes.

John Simcoe cleared his throat before he gave a tight smile. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, McFlaggan. I have some unsettled business in town still. I plead you go without me.”

The man tipped his hat politely before he smirked. “It was a pleasure to have you lead us, Simcoe, even if we did end up on the losing side. I’ll see you in another life, I suppose.”

_Damn it man… just leave already._

“Hopefully not in my own life,” John remarked. The comment made the ranger’s smirk disappear and was replaced with a frown before he started away.

John Simcoe stood up from the stump he was sitting on and removed his clothing down to his underwear, which he decidedly left on as he trudged into the water. He dunked under before he came back up and ran his hands through his hair to get it out of his face and then started to wash the blood off of his bare hands, neck. and face from battle.

He felt achingly sore and exhausted, but he at least wanted to be clean. John had turned his back to the bank and was washing his back off when he heard the familiar click of a pistol as it cocked. He felt his stomach drop as he put his arms up in surrender, wondering who would be foolish, or perhaps dangerous enough, to demand bloodshed after the war was already over.

“I’m unarmed,” he announced as calmly as he could.

Silence, but he still recognized the sound of the pistol shaking. “Please do not shoot,” he spoke. “I’m simply going to slowly turn around.”

Silence still.

He turned his body around, arms still raised in the air, and oddly felt only slightly surprised when he was met with the sight of Abraham Woodhull. He was blood splattered as well, but there was anger and fear on his face as he continued to point the gun at the man who had hunted him during the war.

John knew he would deserve what he got, but he found himself frantically glancing around to find someone who might come to his rescue; truth be told, however, as he had made plenty of enemies during the last few years, John Graves Simcoe did not expect anyone to come to his rescue any time soon, and rightfully so.

If he knew a sadistic monster like himself, then he probably wouldn’t come to his rescue either.

“Woodhull,” John started as calmly as he could, but he could not deny that he was genuinely afraid for his life right now. “I know I have wronged you and your merry band of misfits for an exceptionally long time, but I beg you, please don’t shoot that pistol.”

“You _beg_ me, eh?” Abraham scoffed, his hand still trembling. “You as good as murdered my father, Simcoe! You get what you deserve.”

John kept his hands raised even though they were beginning to get tired, looking at the slightly younger man steadily; Abraham was probably only a couple years younger than himself, but John knew that he had seen as much of war and bloodshed as he had.

At Abraham’s words though, he felt tears growing in his eyes. “Y-You’re absolutely right, Abraham,” he admitted shakily, looking down at the water.

_Oh, how low he had fallen. To be in these sad sorts was a poor sight indeed._

The admission took Abe by surprise. “W-What?”

“I said, you are right, Abraham. I _do_ get what I deserve, and if that is death, then so be it. I’ve tortured your friends, as well as yourself, and… in a way, yes, I confess… I _did_ murder your father,” John nodded, feeling his tears falling down his cheeks, but he did not sob openly; he would not let himself if these were to be his final moments alive.

No, he would not let Abraham Woodhull parade to all his friends and tell them how John Simcoe had cried like a babe in his last moments alive. He would not give him the satisfaction.

“Y-You son of a bitch!” Abraham swore, taking several closer steps to John now so they were inches apart, the barrel of the pistol now close to his forehead.

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I know you won’t believe this, Abraham, but I _am_ deeply sorry for everything I did to you. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I am unable to take any of it back now, but I want you to know that honestly, I would if I were able.”

He didn’t hear the firing of a shot, or pain in his head; he did hear sobbing though. He opened his eyes slowly, hesitantly, to see the younger man looking completely tortured, torn, nay… ripped apart inside by his emotions, the gun still in the air.

He saw the muscle twitch in Abraham’s jaw. “D-Damn it, Simcoe… y-you’re not supposed to say those kinds of things. Who the hell do you think you are?! Answer me!”

John saw the pistol continue to tremble in Abraham’s hand and he slowly reached over and grabbed it from him, watching as the other man fell apart. Simcoe wiped his cheeks with his palms before his brows knitted together and he searched Woodhull’s face, the pistol now in his own hands, face up.

“I’m as much in pain as you are, Abraham. Believe it or not, I know loss, and grief, and I’ve seen my own friends and family be murdered as yours have,” John replied softly. “I am a man without a country or a home to call my own. _That_ is who I think I am.”

In his head he knew it was a bad idea, but he held the handle of the gun out to Abraham to take back. In his heart, though, he just knew it was the right thing to do. John still had his own weapon, his rifle, by the tree stump, and had to commend that it had been smart of Abraham to wait until he was away from it before he made himself known; he took advantage of the situation, and John Simcoe couldn’t fault him for it.

Even post war, Abraham proved himself cunning still. A part of John had to admire that.

The very act of John Simcoe giving back his gun to him made Abraham crumble. He was crying so much now that John knew there was more to the story than the other man feeling ripped apart that he couldn’t him. There was something more that he wasn’t seeing.

John tensed, seeing Abraham look down at the gun in his hands, a horrible feeling washing over him. He swallowed hard and took a step towards him.

“Now, why don’t you just… put the gun away, yes?”

To his horror, he saw Abraham suddenly aim the barrel of the pistol at his own temple and he closed his eyes. John wasn’t sure what this feeling was inside of him, but he felt his blood turn to ice in his veins, and his heart beat against his ribcage violently.

“No!” He shouted in fear. He reached back over and grabbed the gun just as Abraham pulled the trigger. He felt heat shoot throughout the weapon and saw smoke in the air, but to his surprising relief, he saw Woodhull still fully intact.

He let out a shaky sigh and looked down at the younger man. “Why on earth would you choose to end your own life, Woodhull?”

Now that he had asked it aloud, it seemed like an idiotic question to ask. Abraham’s look seemed to say the same.

“Y-You killed… e-everyone I loved…” he sobbed. “So why c-can’t I fucking kill you?!” He let out an angry kick at the water before he stomped towards shore and started to pace.

John slowly followed him, pocketing the pistol now, and moved over to him. He knew that the words were slightly overdramatic and slightly inaccurate, but he dared not say so. The ghost of his former self might have chosen to mention it, but he chose not to right now.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “The answer is rather simple, Woodhull. You cannot kill me, because… that isn’t who you are. You may have killed before, to do what needed to be done, but… you’re not me. You’re not a ruthless murderer who kills to get what he wants, or simply out of anger or frustration; you’re a better man than I, I must admit, Abraham.”

Abe looked over at him with red eyes and he clenched his jaw again as his whole body shook. “I waited… I-I’ve tried to kill you before,” he confessed. “I’ve t-tried to kill you before and… each time, I f-failed. I’ve failed and failed and now, I was so close t-to you, and yet I s-still fail!”

His confession came as no surprise to John; he had become well aware of the attempts on his life by either Abraham or his cohorts. He searched his eyes as he took another few steps towards him.

“The only thing you fail to see is that your failure to kill me, is actually your successful strength to let me walk away instead. Killing a man isn’t brave, Abraham. It’s cowardice, I see that now. It’s bravery to let them continue to live another day when all you want to do is end their life.”

The words visibly surprised Abraham and he looked up at Simcoe with confusion written all over his face. He was shaken by John’s humanity, filled with guilt that he could not kill his old foe, and suicidal on top of that. It was too much for anyone to handle on their own.

“I c-can’t do this anymore,” Abraham sighed, rubbing his face. “I can’t.”

Seeing the distress, John chewed on his bottom lip. “Let me give you a lift back into town, shall I, Woodhull?”

“No,” Abraham shook his head. “No, I just… want you to l-leave me alone, Simcoe.”

John sighed softly, and looked around, luckily seeing none of Abe’s friends to come to his rescue right now. “I fear that you going alone is not a good idea, Woodhull. I must admit, I have reservations about letting you be alone at all right now, given the circumstances and the attempt on your own life.”

Abraham scoffed now and shook his head in disbelief before he looked almost angrily at Simcoe. “Funny, you being worried about my welfare now when you’ve tried to kill me before! Just… leave! Leave Setauket now, before I have you arrested. I’m sure many people would like to see you hang.”

John knew that earning Abe’s trust would be a hard road, and it wasn’t going to come easy. He had to try, though.

“You’re right, Woodhull. I’m sure there are many who would like to see me hang as well, but I have nowhere to go, and no one to go home to. I’ll take you home myself now, and like it or not, I’m going to keep watch over you, so your son doesn’t come home and see his father lying on the floor.”

He saw Abraham suddenly storm over to him before he punched him hard. “Don’t you ever mention my son again, Simcoe! I’ll make you swallow those words back inside your throat!”

John turned his head and spit blood on the ground before he touched his lip, tasting his blood. He felt frustration building up, but he remained calm, forcefully reminding himself that he was no longer that person anymore who would fly off at the handle.

He looked at him. “My apologies, Abraham,” he said calmly. “Please, might we ride now? I’d like to get there before dark.”

The calmness took the other man aback, and he just gave a curt nod before he got on John’s horse. He also got on in front and then started into the town of Setauket, having been just on the outskirts of it. He followed the road at a steady pace until he reached Abe’s small cabin house.

He tied up the horse, which caused Abraham to look over at him with wide eyes.

“What are you doing? You’re not staying here, Simcoe.”

John rolled his eyes and he looked at Abraham. “You don’t really believe I’m going to leave you alone after the events that just occurred earlier? Someone needs to keep watch over you.”

“I’m perfectly fine. Anyway, you have my pistol, Simcoe.”

John looked at him indifferently. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t able to end your life by other means. Despite our difficult past, lets just put it behind us now that the war has ended, yes?”

Abraham looked combative, ready to argue tooth and nail against this situation, but he stomped inside the cabin only to stop abruptly when he saw Benjamin Tallmadge holding a young boy that was undoubtedly Abraham’s.

“Ben,” Abe acknowledged, surprised.

“Abe, I need to talk to –ʺ He stopped midsentence when he saw John standing tall behind him. “What the hell’s he doing here?”

John looked down as Abe looked up, a fearful expression written on his face. It was clear that he didn’t want neither his son nor his friend to know about his earlier suicide attempt.

John cleared his throat. “There are rumors of retaliation from the British, post war. I wish now only to keep peace between both sides.”

He saw the skepticism in Tallmadge’s eyes, but it was apparent there was worse news that needed to be told right now. Now that Woodhull’s friend was here, he wasn’t as concerned with him hurting himself at the moment, but he _was_ still worried.

“Simcoe, if you could wait outside so we could talk?” Abraham’s voice was still a bit shaky as he tried his best to be forceful.

The war was over now; John felt no reservations about being congenial now as he gave a nod. “Very well, Woodhull. I’ll be just outside if something should happen.”

If he was being honest, he wanted to stay to hear the news, but this new and human part of Simcoe also wanted to let Abraham have his privacy, so he reluctantly moved outside and pretended to keep watch for fake retaliation from his own people. It had been a weak lie, but he knew he was at the top of the kill list for all of Abraham’s friends right now.

He had caused a lot of pain he knew he’d never be able to take back, and he didn’t expect to be forgiven for any of his actions. He only hoped, _maybe_ they could forgive him in time. He heard loud questions coming from within the cabin now, and he thought about going in but then he remembered that wouldn’t do any good, so he remained outside.

Minutes went by, and it felt like hours, but finally, he saw Ben Tallmadge come out of the cabin looking sorrowful and then watched him reluctantly walk over to Simcoe.

“If you touch one hair on Abe’s head, I’ll be digging a grave for you,” he warned.

John was no stranger to threats, and they didn’t have the bite they used to have anymore. He merely took threats with a grain of salt these days. He gave a nod and looked at Benjamin with a calm look. “Don’t worry, Tallmadge. Those days of hurting any of you are long over now.”

Like Abe, he saw disbelief on his face, but he didn’t say anything as he jumped back on his horse and rode off, sans son.

John walked over to the cabin door and gently knocked, deciding that normal people might actually do that instead of barging inside. “May I come in now, Woodhull? It’s getting quite nippy out here.”

He put his ear against the door but almost fell through when he felt it open quickly and saw Abraham grab some wood before throwing it into the fire. He glanced around and saw his son Thomas sitting on the bed, watching both of them.

It made him uneasy, having a pair of young eyes on him. He never had a son, or a child to speak of, but he felt like they silently judged you more than any other adult could. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the table and poured some for both of them.

“Sit, let us talk, shall we?”

Abraham ran his hands through his hair, a gesture Simcoe noticed he did when he was feeling distressed. Something was definitely wrong.

He watched as the man sat down at the table and swallowed the whiskey all in one sip. John felt his stomach knotting up in discomfort at the other’s man unease. “What’s happened, Abraham? What did Tallmadge say to you?”

“Nothing of your concern, Simcoe. The war’s over, yeah? I don’t need to report anything to you anymore.”

“I’m aware,” John replied simply, taking a small sip of his own drink as he watched Abe. “I’m not a Queen’s Ranger anymore. I haven’t been for quite some time now. I’m not even a soldier anymore. I’m merely asking out of curiosity, from one man to another. Do forgive me if I’m out of line.”

Abraham swallowed hard before he poured himself more whiskey and took another sip. He was quiet for a long time, the only sound between them was the crackling of the fire and the occasional yawns coming from Thomas in the corner of the room.

Then, Abraham looked at John with apprehensive eyes. “Mary’s… Mary passed, two days ago. Apparently, she heard false news about me, and took her own life, thinking that I had been killed.”

John looked up in shock, haven’t having heard that. Usually, he was one of the first people to pick up on Setauket persons. He wasn’t sure what to say at first, but his instinct was to look over at Thomas before looking back at the other man.

At least she had the good sense not to take Thomas with her.

“So she left him with Tallmadge right beforehand?”

Abraham quickly wiped a tear away on his cheek with his palm and sniffed, sighing shakily. “She left him with Caleb, but Caleb is still healing from battle, so Ben decided he should bring him here to tell me the news of her passing. I-I just… I talked to her, three days ago. I can’t believe she’s…” Abe trailed off, shaking his head as he took another drink.

John felt his heart breaking inside, a foreign feeling he’d only felt a couple times before in his life. Strange that he should be feeling it right now.

“I… I am sincerely sorry, Abraham,” he spoke gently, searching his face. He _needed_ this man to know that he was sincere.

Abe was quiet for a few moments before he looked at John in the flicker of the firelight, desperation in his eyes. “Speak true, Simcoe,” he pleaded sadly. “Did you have anything to do with the rumors? Did you tell her I was dead?”

John shook his head, tracking to rack his brains what would even make her believe that Abraham was dead in the first place. “No, Abraham,” he replied solemnly. “I swear that I did not have anything to do with any of that. Just now is the first time I’ve been made aware of it.”

He felt Abraham’s eyes searching his own for any signs of a lie, and saw that the younger man believed him. “Then I will give you a pillow and a blanket, and you can stay the night, Simcoe. Just don’t come near me or my son, or I promise I won’t hesitate to kill you next time.”

“Understood, Woodhull,” he nodded, and finished his drink. He watched as Abraham walked over and grabbed an extra pillow from a small bed before he threw it on the floor in front of the fire, and then placed a blanket down as well before taking his own place next to his son in the bed.

John watched him make himself comfortable and eventually fall asleep before he also made himself comfortable on the floor in front of the fire, the blanket too small to cover his body, but it was of no matter.

He was just grateful to have a roof over his head at all. Once the war had ended, and the Americans won, Simcoe had expected to be in dire straits, moving from place to place just to keep warm during this winter. Never in his life had he expected to be asking help from Woodhull, but he was glad that he had, nonetheless. He had no doubts that if not for Abe, John would most certainly die of frostbite or some other affliction.

In his exhaustion, he quickly fell asleep, but not before giving Abraham one last peek to make sure he was far away from his pistol.


	2. unforgiving/unforgettable

**. . .**

John Simcoe woke up first in the morning and saw the fire was almost out. He quietly stood up and grabbed a log from the mall pile of wood inside and set it on the still warm embers, causing it to spark slightly and quickly catch fire again.

He glanced over to see if he had woken up the sleeping farmer, and saw the young man’s eyes were still closed. John saw his son’s eyes were open, however, and watched as he crawled clumsily off the low bed and waddled over to him, looking up at him questioningly.

_What on earth did he want?_

He uncovered the bread on the table and broke off a small piece before he held it out to Thomas. “Hungry? Would you like a bite to eat?”

The young boy tugged at his ear before reaching out and grabbing the bread, before stuffing it into his mouth.

John couldn’t help but smile at his innocence; he knew nothing of his mother committing suicide, or the death of his grandfather. He knew not of war, of famine, of violence. He might have been born poor by association of the Woodhull name, but he surely never wanted for anything as he grew up.

He should have known better but he gently lifted Thomas up onto his lap so he could be up higher and offered him another small piece of bread. This time, the boy, ignorantly trusting of Simcoe, started to pick it apart.

It was the first time he had ever properly seen him up close, and instantly noticed that Thomas’ curls were not belonging to Abraham, but to his former wife Mary. He did, however, inherit his father’s eyes. John watched as the small child continued to eat the bread messily before he began to whine.

He grabbed a nearby tin cup and set the boy on his own chair at the table before standing up and finding the pitcher of milk. He poured the milk into the cup and then set it in front of Thomas, who began to happily drink it.

It was now when he saw Abraham start to stir, and sleepily walked over to them, glancing from Thomas back to John almost cautiously. He gave a small smile anyway, as if he was attempting to give John the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t about to take his son captive or try anything drastic.

He looked at John almost wearily before he cleared his throat and started to make tea. “Would you like some, Simcoe?”

John was taken back by the offer; it had been the first of its kind asked by Abe since he had let him stay there. He gave a gentle nod before he sat down near the fire by Abe to warm himself up.

“Yes, please, Woodhull. Thank you.”

Abraham glanced up from the kettle before filling it with water and then found two cups he had taken back from Washington’s encampment once the war ended. He placed the kettle on the iron rack on the fire and ran his hands through his hair.

“How did you sleep?”

John nodded and gave a weak smile. “I slept well, thank you.”

“All these ‘please’ and ‘thank-you’s’ and I’m going to start to think you’re up to something,” Abe gave a nervous little chuckle. “You aren’t usually so polite unless you’ve either got some dirt on me or something up your sleeve.”

John gave a painful smile, feeling guilt creeping up at his edges.

_No, he wasn’t that person anymore. He just wasn’t._

If this war had taught him anything, it was that some things actually aren’t worth fighting for, and the things that are don’t include papers or property.

“I know how you must think of me, Abraham, and I don’t blame you, but I promise there is nothing up my sleeve; I just feel like it is the right time to turn over a new leaf, if you will,” John tried to explain.

“Yeah,” Abe gave a nod just as the kettle began to whistle and whine. “I could do with a new leaf being turned over, for both of us.”

John watched as Abe grabbed a handful of peppermint before he threw it into the steaming water and put the lid back on again to let it steep. John had never been one to care _how_ his tea was made as long as it was, and brought to him quickly. Watching Abraham make it now though was humbling, and he felt strange, like being here with him like this, in his cabin and doing simple tasks, brought John more joy and happiness than he had ever actually experienced in his entire life.

This was a life he had never lived before.

John Graves Simcoe had never really known hardship. The hardest task he had ever done was spending all that time during the war trying to kill this man next to him. It was really quite pathetic the more he thought about it.

He decided not to anymore, and instead, glanced over at Abe’s son who was still nibbling the bread and taking sips of his milk.

“Do you have any sons, Simcoe?” a voice broke John’s thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought to ask you.”

John looked back over at him and blinked. “No, I’m afraid not. There’s been a few women, here and there… but… none looking to settle down with a person such as myself, unfortunately.”

He hoped he wasn’t sounding too pitiful; he wasn’t looking for sympathy, and nor did he think that he actually deserved it. He felt like he was just telling it like how things were in his own life, even if it did seem a bit sad.

Abe searched his face, perhaps for any signs of lies or trickery, but then appeared to relax again. “Well, like you said, you’re a different person now, yeah? I’m sure someone will come along that’s right for you, Simcoe.”

John doubted it highly because he hadn’t had much luck with any woman whatsoever. “I appreciate you saying that, Abraham, but I doubt it very much.”

“Well, you seem to already be making some kind of change,” the younger man shrugged. “You’ve stayed here overnight, and we haven’t had a row yet, nor have you threatened me with pistol or sword. I’d say we’re off to a good start.”

John smiled now as he saw Abraham shrug before also smiling. The younger man’s emotions were infectious. He looked down at his empty cup, recognizing it right away. He gave Abe some credit; for a farmer, a spy, a father, and a husband, he was also quite the talented thief.

“Oh, sorry,” Abe apologized as he poured the tea into John’s cup before his own.

“It’s quite all right, Abraham,” John reassured him, wrapping his cold hands around the cup. “What are your plans now?” He asked after a beat.

“Now? As in…”

“Now,” John gave a nod. “Now that the war is over. Forgive me for being impolite, but… your wife has passed, as has your father. Washington no longer needs you. What will you do with your life now?”

He saw Abe squirm uncomfortably in his seat before he took a sip of his tea, quiet for a long time. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll stay here, in my cabin, with Thomas… keep farming, earn what I can. Why do you ask?”

There was suspicion in his voice, and who the hell could blame him? Their whole history together had been full of fire and ice, constantly clashing with the other, with John having ulterior motives at every turn.

John took a drink of his tea, letting it warm his insides. “I’m asking simply because… I have… no idea what I’m going to do from here on out. I have no family, no real house I’ve settled down upon to speak of, and no further mission, simply put. I’m at a loss, Woodhull, and I feel more lost right now than I’ve ever felt in my l-life.”

He heard himself choke up a little bit and silently cursed himself, but then realized that he had nothing else to prove to Abraham; they had done their dance with each other, and he had just came out of the war as an empty shell instead of a stronger man.

He swallowed hard and gave a shaky sob before he finally let himself break down a little, tears rolling down his cheeks as he tried to turn away.

_Damn it, he hated looking so fucking vulnerable in front of this man, but it wasn’t as if Abraham’s life had really turned out any better than his own._

If anyone had a right to cry right now, it was Abe.

He was surprised that he hadn’t really cried yet, given the circumstances, but perhaps death was just another enemy they had come to know better than themselves at this point.

John was startled when he felt Abraham’s hand gently on his shoulder and almost flinched away, half expecting a hidden knife to slide into his throat.

“Stay with me,” Abraham suddenly offered. “Stay here, with me. Help me around the place, maybe… help me with the farming? Whatever profits I make by the end of the season, I’ll split it with you.”

John quickly wiped at his tears before he glanced over at him, knowing he had to be all red-faced and puffy from his crying. He took a shaky breath to try and steady himself. “That’s an exceedingly kind offer, Abraham, but… I-I couldn’t. I couldn’t possibly burden you like that. You could have killed me yesterday, but chose not to. T-That’s the greatest favor I could’ve asked of from you.”

“Please, Simcoe… John,” Abraham corrected himself. “I… would very much like if you stayed. I could use the company, and now I know that you could as well.”

He mulled it over in his head for a few moments. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, either. He took a deep breath before he gave a nod but still looked at the other man uneasily. “Only if this will not be of any inconvenience to you, Abraham. I can help out with things a bit, financially, if that would perhaps make this transition easier?”

At first, Abe looked hesitant to take any money, but then wet his lips in thought and shrugged before finally nodding in agreement. “Umm… yeah, all right, then. If you don’t mind, I mean. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to pay you back right away, Simcoe.”

“Oh, no… having a roof over my head and food in my stomach will be payment enough. Consider this money aid for my new lodgings, Abe.”

He took out the paper money that was stuffed in one of his pockets and gave it to Abraham. It was everything he had earned or saved up during the war, which still was not very much, minus reparations and costs of aid and weaponry.

John took the ten pounds he had in his pocket and gave it to him. “I know it isn’t very much…”

“No,” Abraham blinked in surprise. “I mean – it’s fine, really. It’ll at least help us get through the winter until we can plant in the spring. “This… is helpful, Simcoe, really. Thank you.”

John gave a weak smile. “It’s the least I could do.”

“What do you think, Sprout?” Abraham talked to Thomas now, leaning over to him as he was just about to throw his cup. “Do you think you’d like to help your pa and his friend with the harvest, eh?”

_Friend._

How John had longed to hear those words come out of Abe’s mouth for so long, it was incomprehensible. He smiled at the thought; could they actually both be friends for once in their lives? Was it possible for two enemies to become such?

Oh, how John Simcoe hoped.

“Here,” Abraham put the money back in his hand. “Take this and my carriage, and run down to the store. Fill the carriage up with enough food to last to us through the winter.”

He was surprised when Woodhull did this, but he nodded, determined not to disappoint him, not this time… not anymore. He was glad not to have his uniform on anymore, but normal civilian clothes, and grabbed his coat before he hurried eagerly out of the cabin, closing it behind him tightly before he made for the wagon and started towards town.

  
**……… … …….**

He hadn’t expected a hero’s welcome in the least, and the people of Setauket did not disappoint. After he parked the wagon in front of the store, he saw so many eyes following him.

He walked into the store and felt like winter had come early by the frozen stares many gave him. He attempted a small smile at the storekeeper, who did not return it, and instead gave him a cold scowl.

“Hello there, sir,” he chirped calmly. “Would you kindly help me in loading up my wagon with provisions to last the winter? I have money to pay.” He held up the money he had offered to Abraham earlier.

The storekeeper looked highly displeased but took the money from him and went out the side to start loading up the wagon regardless.

Then a voice came from out of the corner of the store. “Your money isn’t any good here, Simcoe! Why don’t you pack up and leave already? Your side lost… you needn’t stay here any longer!”

John swallowed hard, knowing he shouldn’t have expected to come into town without objections to his presence. He looked over at the man. “Excuse me, sir. I don’t wish to quarrel with you in the least. As this is now the land of the free, I believe I am allowed to walk around this country, as a man without a country.”

“Your country is England, and you belong there! It’s in your own best interest if you leave now before I do quarrel. You’ve caused us enough pain!” The man spit in John’s direction, getting saliva on his face.

John quickly wiped it away, taking a deep breath. He knew what he would do in this situation any other time, if the war were still going on, but that was also what a _lesser_ , more cowardice man would do as well. He needed to change.

Simcoe put his hands up in surrender. “I assure you, I am truly sorry for any and all pain I’ve caused this town,” he spoke sincerely. “I do wish I could take all of it back, but alas, I cannot. I only wish to bring provisions to Woodhull’s farm, please –ʺ

He wasn’t one for begging, but John also wasn’t feeling particularly suicidal at the moment either. Before Abraham had graciously let him stay at his cabin, he couldn’t deny that Simcoe had great difficulty in seeing a future for himself, and had been contemplating ending his life, but now that he would be able to live a resemblance of a life with Abe, his future had become brighter.

Just as he had finished the last syllable, he suddenly felt a hard fist hit his face, and then tasted blood. He put a hand to investigate the damage when he was met with more punches, and before he knew it, he was on the ground, curled into himself as there was a sudden entourage of kicks to his ribs and back.

He groaned and yelped in pain until the shopkeeper came back in and surprisingly came to his aid.

“Hey now, that’ll be enough of that now! None of us are fond of these reds but our side won the war, yeah? Let us move on with some dignity! Leave immediately!”

“We’re just giving him what he’s owed!” The man kicking him barked back but the ceased hurting him. John saw his boots walk out of the store and cringed as he forced himself to stand up, letting out a yelp.

His body ached all over, but he somehow found the energy to limp out to the carriage, now just eager to get back to Woodhull’s farm. He was less concerned with his own well being and more concerned with making sure that Abraham and Thomas had enough food to last them the winter, forget himself.

He groaned loudly as he pulled himself up on the wagon before handling the reigns, instructing the horses back towards the direction of the farm. By the time he arrived on Woodhull’s homestead, he felt like he might pass out from the pain. Luckily, he got the horses to stop.

He grabbed one of the boxes and limped towards the house, letting himself inside before staggering over to the table and set one of the food boxes down quickly before he suddenly felt pain blind him.

He fell to the floor, blacking out, but the last thing he saw was Abraham running over to him, something that looked like panic in his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the playlist I write to in case anyone's interested! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0g3WKEHMWFPNm5pbDgl0zn?si=rcv3GJCsQG-nz5NgHU0hEg


	3. choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like I said, this story isn't s4e10 compliant in any way. In this story, Simcoe never had that last meeting with Hewlett in the medical tent, and neither man left the country to start a new life. Also, Washington never gave money to Abe as well 
> 
> Thank you for the positive feedback for this fic. I was worried I was the only person who could see them together. Thanks for all the comments :) Please keep them coming!

**. . .**

“Why the bloody hell are you lettin’ this bastard _live_ with you, Abe? Hell, why are you letting him live at all?”

Abraham rubbed the back of his neck tensely as he looked from the still unconscious Simcoe that lay on his bed as Anna and Tallmadge both reluctantly worked on him to tape up his ribs. His brows knitted and he looked over at his best friend.

“Are you serious, Caleb? I’m not a murderer.”

“Oh,” Caleb let out a humorless chuckle. “So you’ll kill for Washington but not us? Not for your father? Abe… this _monster_ killed your father, and my uncle! He deserves death! He deserves pain!”

Abraham sighed heavily. He knew this wasn’t going to go over well, not when Caleb had history with Simcoe, and bad history at that. He wasn’t a doctor; he was a farmer, and he needed help.

_John needed help._

“Look at him, Caleb! He already had pain… a lot of it. I know he’s not our favorite person in the world right now, but I couldn’t just let him die out in the cold! You and I both know he wouldn’t have made it out there if I had just locked him outside. He would’ve died,” Abe tried to persuade him.

Caleb gave a shake of his head. “Good! That’s the least he deserves, Abe! He deserves death thrice over for all the shite he did to all of us!” Then he lowered his voice and moved Abraham away from Anna and Tallmadge as they worked together. “Have you forgotten how he threatened Anna, and how far it almost went?”

Abraham didn’t need his friend to remind him; he remembered everything this man had done to all of them, but that was the point right there.

He searched Caleb’s eyes. “He isn’t the same man he once was! He’s just not. We’ve talked and… I genuinely believe that he’s remorseful about it all.”

“Abe…” Caleb sighed, glancing back at Simcoe. “You can’t trust him. It’s a trick! It’s always a trick with him. He’s naught but a grubby, lyin’ bastard, he is!”

Abraham knew he wasn’t going to get through to him, but he knew he had to try. He put his hands on his shoulders and held them firmly.

“I tried to kill him,” Abe whispered now. “I did, but… I just couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. I might have killed people for Washington, but I want to change too. People can change, Caleb, and I think we should all give them a chance to do that before we judge them.”

“I think it’s a mistake you’re makin’, farm boy,” Caleb chewed on his lip apprehensively. “But… I’ll still be around town if you need me. I won’t stand in your way, Abraham Woodhull, because I know what a stubborn bastard you are as well. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t at least try to sway your thought, would I?”

Abe saw a slight smirk reach Caleb’s face now and he gave an appreciative nod before he gently clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder in thanks. He released him now and walked over to Anna and Tallmadge who were both hovering over Simcoe after just having wrapped up his torso several times with gauze and fixed up his scratches so they wouldn’t become infected.

“How is he?”

Anna gave Abraham a pointed look that asked why he did this, but she did not say as much. She pursed her lips tightly in agitation. “He’ll live,” she said simply, in a tone that told Abraham very clearly that she wished otherwise.

“Good,” Abe nodded and looked over at Tallmadge. “How long will you be in town for?”

Benjamin looked over at Anna before looking back at Abe. “How long will _you_ be here with him? You know full well you can’t trust him.”

Abe sighed in annoyance and shook his head. “Look, I’m tired of hearing it from all of you, yeah? You all let me know exactly how you feel about me sheltering him. I appreciate you fixing him up, though, but you can all take your leave now if you don’t mind.”

Tallmadge suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him outside roughly, Anna and Caleb both following him as well.

It was dark and chilly, with only the light of the moon in the sky overhead.

“You need to get him out of your cabin, Abe,” Benjamin remarked solemnly, eyeing Abraham intently. “You know you can’t trust him, after everything he’s done.”

“I don’t want to hear it anymore!” Abe suddenly shouted at him before looking around at all of them. “From any of you! I don’t take orders from you anymore, Ben, so just… stop telling me what I need to do.”

Caleb and Anna stood close together, his arm around her shoulders, staying abnormally quiet as they let Tallmadge speak for them. He sauntered closer to Abraham now until they were inches apart, Ben’s eyes looking hard and cold now.

“Fine, Abe, but whatever he does to any of us, is on you. You’ll face the consequences when it happens because… make no mistake, it _will_ happen, eventually. He’ll hurt one of us, he’ll hurt Anna, he’ll kill you, but no matter what, it’ll be your fault because it was _you_ who decided to give him another chance; a chance he doesn’t deserve,” Ben declared.

“Fine,” Abraham nodded. “It’s on me, everything is. What else is new, though, eh? I did your dirty work for you during the war, received no thanks and no pay for it, and you just used me. I find now that I can relate to Simcoe how it feels to feel lost, without a home, feeling like I’m back at the start again… you can hurt him however you like, but I’m still going to fight for him.”

“Why, Abe?” Ben challenged now, his jaw tight. “Why are you fighting with us so hard on this?”

Abraham swallowed hard and shrugged before pointing an index finger at Tallmadge’s chest. “You. Because of you, Ben. You told me to fight for what I believe in, well, I believe in Simcoe.”

“Those are words I never thought I’d be alive to hear,” Caleb spoke.

Ben glanced over at Caleb before looking back to Abraham, his hands on his hips whenever he was feeling defensive or angry. He scoffed now and shook his head, storming back to his horse.

Abraham watched him leave before he walked over to Caleb and Anna. “Anything else either of you wish to say about this?”

“I believe Ben’s said it all for us,” Anna sighed tiredly. “Please promise us you’ll be careful around him, Abe.”

He nodded. “I promise,” he looked over at Caleb who gave a weak smile before the man suddenly hugged him.

“I’m sorry for our row earlier,” the bearded man apologized hesitantly. “You know you’re like a brother to me. I’m just tryin’ to look out for you.”

Abraham knew it was more than that; Caleb was emotionally invested in this situation. Simcoe had been responsible for killing his uncle, and that was a grudge he knew his friend would never give up. He knew Caleb wasn’t done with the ex-Queen’s Ranger, and Abe feared what it might come down to. For the sake of ending this conversation though and having everyone go away for a bit, Abraham needed to let it go for now.

“I know,” he nodded, patting his back.

Caleb let go of him and moved back over to Anna before leading her towards their own horse and headed into town.

He watched them ride, running both hands through his hair before he hurried back inside and locked the door behind him. Abraham walked over to Simcoe as he started to stir, and he brought him some water.

“You should take it easy. Here, drink.”

John lifted his head and thirstily drank the water before he put his head back down and cringed as he tried to move. He’d be surprised if his ribs weren’t broken. He took a shaky breath and looked up at Abraham with cautious eyes.

He had heard the conversation that had taken place and he realized now what a position he was in at the moment; it’d be so easy for Abe to slit his throat right here and now, or in his sleep. He wondered if he was going to do the task his friends had wanted for him.

“How did you convince your friends to help me?”

Abe sat down closer to him. “It wasn’t easy.”

“Assuredly not,” John agreed. “Of that, I have no doubt. Are you going to end my life now, Woodhull? I was at least partially awake for that conversation earlier… I heard what they said.”

He saw Abraham’s shoulders sink and his eyes became softer. “No,” he replied. “I’m not going to kill you, Simcoe. I told you before.”

John gave a small, genuine smile. He believed him, and he was grateful for it. “You are truly a good man, Abraham. I must confess, though, I am indeed a bit worried about your friend Mr. Brewster getting to my throat. The death of a relative is harder than that of a friend.”

“I’ll talk him out of it,” Abe shrugged. “He’s my childhood friend. If I don’t want him to do something, he won’t do it. Don’t worry about him, Simcoe. He’s my problem, not yours.”

John grimaced in pain as he slowly sat up, wrapping his arm around his ribs as he did so. He looked at the younger man. “I sincerely hope he’s not your problem either, Abe. I wish I could do more to prove that I’m not their enemy any longer. I don’t wish to cause any more conflict.”

“I know you don’t,” Abe gave a short nod. “It’ll be all right. You should rest, though, tonight. It’s late.”

“Please, take your bed back. I can sleep by the fire again,” John insisted as he attempted to leave the bed, despite his pain.

“What? No, that’d be insane,” Abraham gently forced him back into the bed again. “You stay here until you heal. Thomas and I will be perfectly fine by the fire. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve laid on a floor.”

He grabbed the extra pillow on the bed and a couple blankets before he picked up Thomas in his arms and moved over to the fire, setting the boy down and making him comfortable before he moved back over to Simcoe.

“Anything else I can get you?”

John moved back to lay on the bed and looked up at Abraham. From this angle and the candlelight casting shadows, Abe looked almost angelic as he stood so close to him with a soft expression on his face.

“No, thank you, Abe. I will be all right tonight, I think. I’m no stranger to pain.”

Something that might look like empathy flickered in the other man’s eyes momentarily before he leaned in and made sure that John was covered with the blanket. They both watched the other, both their hearts starting to beat wildly within both their chests, to neither of the other’s knowledge.

They stayed like that for a long few moments before Abraham cleared his throat and leaned back. “G’night, Simcoe.”

John let out a silent breath. “Goodnight, Woodhull,” he said quietly.

He watched as the other man lay down on the floor with his son, holding him close but saw his eyes were watching him in the dim light. They stared at each other for several minutes before John felt himself fall asleep from exhaustion.

**……… … ……….**

When he woke up the next morning, he felt like he was in even more pain than he had been in last night. He groaned as he sat up, coughing softly but then flinched at each exhale he took.

John had been squeezing his eyes closed from the pain, and when he finally opened them again, he saw Abe standing in front of him, looking worriedly in his direction.

“You shouldn’t be sitting up,” he lightly scolded. “You need to rest. They won’t heal if you keep hurting them.”

John gave a chuckle and looked up at him. “I assure you, Abraham, I’m perfectly fine… or rather, I will be soon. I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

“Let’s hope sooner rather than later,” Abe spoke gently before hurried towards the table and cut some bread before buttering it and gave it to John to eat. “You need to keep your strength up. I fear if you don’t eat anything soon, you’ll vanish in thin air.”

John gave another lighthearted chuckle before hissing in pain again.

It was Abe’s turn to chuckle. “Stop that! You’re going to worsen your condition if you keep laughing like that.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help it,” John smirked. “Your attempt to keep me serious is failing. I fear I’ll never heal if you continue to make me laugh like I am!”

Abraham laughed now, smiling brightly. “Well maybe if you threaten me again like before, we can make sure you actually heal.”

John’s smile faltered now, and he felt guilt touch his eyes. “I can’t tell if it’s foolishness or bravery that makes you joke like that, Abraham. I did more than threaten you, and your kin, and I still am unable to believe you’d easily forgive me like you say you have.”

Abraham’s smile faltered as well, but only slightly.

“Well believe it, John. It’s foolishness that makes you not believe I’d forgive you. I’ve already told you we’re going to put our past behind us and move on, yeah? So let’s do that already before we get too old and we can’t fight each other anymore,” Abe chuckled.

John gave a gentle laugh as well and nodded. “Very well.”

The two men chatted for awhile before Abraham wet his lips anxiously and caressed his upper lip as he usually did when he was nervous.

John bit his own lip, his chest aching at seeing Abe looking so uneasy. Finally he couldn’t stop himself. “What’s on your mind, Woodhull?”

Abe looked at him now and straightened up. “Edmund is going to be arriving at Whitehall today and I have to be there to sign it over to him. He’s going to be taking up residency.”

John wasn’t sure if he had heard him clearly. “Hewlett? Hewlett’s going to be living in Whitehall?”

Abraham was looking nervous again as he nodded. “Yes, he is. Listen, as long as you’re staying here with me, you won’t hurt him! I’m serious, Simcoe. You put whatever grudges you have with him behind you as well, and let the past be in the past, just like with us.”

John searched his face and nodded before looking down at his hands. “I admit, I do have grudges towards the man, but… I won’t act on them. So what is it that you’re so apprehensive about exactly with him moving in today?”

“I either have to leave you all alone here, or… have Edmund come to the cabin instead so I can sign the deed over to him.”

John became nervous as well now. He feared being left alone would give Abraham’s friends the opportunity to take his life, or hurt him more at the very least. The fear he felt was reflected in Abe’s eyes as well, and he saw the issue now.

_Abe was also afraid of this outcome._

Did this mean that they were actually becoming friends? He hoped so.

“Why not invite him here instead, then?” John asked, trying not to sound as afraid as he was inside. “I’m sure Hewlett will not mind.”

“He will once he sees you in here. I’ll get the same speech from him as Ben gave me yesterday about trusting you. I’m sick of hearing it.”

John nodded in understanding. “Maybe, but this is important, yes? He’ll have a place to stay, and you need to sign the deed over to him to make it binding. If you don’t wish to leave me alone, it appears your only option is to invite him here.”

Abraham sighed, running a hand through his hair as Thomas came over and tugged at his hand for attention. He took his son’s hand in his own and gave it a soft squeeze of reassurance before looking back at John.

“Fine, but… you need to be on your best behavior, Simcoe. I really need this to go smoothly or else he’ll be another one here wanting you back in England. He might actually make sure you end up there, though.”

John smirked. “Don’t fret, Woodhull. I promise I’ll show proper decorum.”

“Good. I’m sure either Anna or Ben will be around again this morning to try and change my mind. When they come around, I’ll have them send word to Hewlett to come here instead,” Abe replied, mostly aloud to himself.

John looked over at Thomas who was leaning up against his father and felt a sort of envy he could not explain to anyone else but himself. He smiled sadly at them before he felt his lip. It still felt sore, but at least it wouldn’t become infected, thanks to Anna, most likely.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Simcoe… it’s been nice, to have company here. Losing Mary has been… more difficult than I can say, but… I believe marrying her had only been done because of Thomas, and because of society, to be honest. It was the right thing to do, when my brother died, so I did it,” Abraham spoke freely.

John’s brows lifted in surprise. “You don’t need to explain your actions to me anymore, Abe. Your actions are your own, as are your feelings, and feelings can change on a turn of a shilling.”

Abraham nodded and looked down at Thomas lovingly but spoke to Simcoe. “I won’t force my own son to do those things that society tells him to do. I want him to choose for himself. Now that we live in a free country, he should have choices in his life, and not be like his father.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” John smiled softly, nodding.

Abe looked back up at Simcoe and chuckled, smirking slyly. “Well that’s something else we can agree on, isn’t it?”

“I believe it is, Woodhull.”


	4. hope

**. . .**

There was a knock on the door around one in the afternoon, startling both John and Abe out of a peaceful nap.

Abraham rubbed his eyes before he quickly stood up and hurried over to the door, opening it only slightly at first, making sure it wasn’t an angry townsperson. He relaxed a bit when he only saw Anna and let her inside to get out of the brisk cold.

She cast a cautious glance at John before moving over to him. “I’m here to check your dressings and make sure you’re not still bleeding, so… keep your hands to yourself, Simcoe.”

John nodded obediently and let her help him to sit up so she could check him out. He let her examine his ribs, hissing low in pain when she pressed a bit too hard on his ribs, which he assumed was done purposefully. He looked over at Woodhull, who was now looking somewhat impatient.

“How does he look?”

She didn’t answer him until she had changed his dressing and applied more antiseptic to his cuts. “He has a broken rib, but I think it’ll heal without needing a proper doctor, as long as we keep it wrapped up. So far, there’s no sign of any infection either.”

“Good,” Abe replied, nodding as he looked visibly relieved. “Anna, I need you to send a message for me.”

“A message?” Anna looked surprised. “Just like old times, it would seem. What is the message, Abe?” She moved over to him.

Abraham ran a hand through his hair. He could do without her hostility right now. “Hewlett is taking over residency at Whitehall. I was supposed to meet him there to sign the papers, but I need you to tell him to meet me here instead, later, around six.”

Anna looked tense now. “That’s right; I’ve forgotten about that,” she bit her lip. “Why do you want me to tell him? Why not ask Ben or Caleb to give him the message?”

Abraham searched her eyes with his gentle ones, attempting to end the hostility between them. “You know why I’m asking you, Anna. He’ll listen to you, he’s still fond of you. He might not be as welcoming to Caleb or Ben.”

“Abe… don’t make me do this, I beg you,” she pleaded tiredly. “I can’t face him again.”

He gave a look over at Simcoe who seemed like he was trying his best not to listen in on their conversation, even though they weren’t exactly being secretive.

Abraham looked back at her and resisted the urge to reach out and touch her just like he had done so many other times before. He didn’t want to have that kind of relationship anymore, though, regardless of him no longer having Mary. For years, Anna had been the ‘other woman,’ but Abe didn’t wish to be the ‘other man.’ Caleb was still his best friend, and he didn’t want to betray him that way.

“Please, Anna. All you have to do is relay the message to him. Nothing sinister is going to come from it, I promise. No one’s going to die tonight. Just tell him to meet me here at six, that’s all you have to do.”

She looked reluctant still, dread in her eyes at meeting an ex-fiancé. She let out a loud exhale before finally nodding in agreement. “Yes, all right. I’ll give Edmund the message. If Caleb comes around asking where I am, though, don’t tell him I’m doing this.”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t want Caleb to get the wrong idea. He knows how I was almost married to Edmund… I don’t want him to think that I’m trying to see him in secret,” she explained as if it were obvious.

“Isn’t it secret if you don’t want him to know about it?”

She shook her head and playfully smacked him before leaving the cabin to head to Whitehall were Hewlett had no doubt already started to settle in. Abraham helped his son onto a chair and gave him some food and some milk before walking over to Simcoe.

“Umm… thank you, John,” he spoke awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“For what, Woodhull?”

“Not talking back to her like you normally might have, acting civil… not touching her,” he searched his face. “Perhaps you really have changed after all.”

John gave a small smile, unsure what to say to that. He was just reminded of his formerly vile ways he had treated women in the past. “I want to be a decent person. I want others to like me… instead of fearing or despising me.”

Abe nodded in understanding. “Good, that’s good, John. I’m glad to hear that, truly. Remember though, you need to keep acting this way when Hewlett arrives, okay? It’s important to me that he signs the papers and stays in Whitehall.”

Simcoe looked at him curiously now. “How come?”

Abe shook his head and shrugged. “Because… he’s… probably the closest thing I have to a father now. He’s acted as such since my own had passed. Just… please, talk to him civilly if you must talk to him at all?”

John nodded. “Of course, Woodhull. If it’s important to you, then… I’ll do it.” He gave a weak smile before he wrapped the blanket around his body carefully, feeling chilled.

As Abe nodded and smiled back at him, he felt something else stir inside of him. It was similar to a fondness he was developing towards this man the more trust he prove to Abe. It felt like friendship that he never thought he’d feel with him.

They ate lunch and chatted until the time grew closer to six. Feeling self-conscious and poor, he tried to tidy up the cabin the best he could, the way he’d seen Mary do it, and made sure it was well lit with candles.

“I really wouldn’t be worried about making your place presentable, Abraham,” Simcoe remarked as he moved to sit in a chair so Abe and his son could have the bed back. He continued to hold the blanket close to him.

“He’s been in fairly bad living conditions for several days before. I’m quite sure he won’t be judging you for a little mess here and there.”

“Thanks,” Abe chuckled and shrugged. “I just want this deal to happen. It’ll help a bit financially, even if it’s just a little.”

“I understand,” John nodded, watching him place the brandy on the table, along with a few glasses. “I’m sure it will go well. Edmund Hewlett is a kind person by nature, soft… he always was taken with you. I always saw it when the three of us were in a room together; I believe he thought of you as a son as well.”

Abraham stopped what he was doing as affection touched his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes,” John smiled again. “I must admit, it was something I envied. My own father was very strict, rarely showed me any love or attention. I was jealous how smitten Hewlett had always been with you, especially once your father died.”

Abe took this in, starting to relax a bit more now knowing that the father/son relationship appeared to be mutual after all, and it wasn’t just all in his head. He felt a bit better.

“I’m sorry, about your own father, Simcoe. You know that my own father and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye either. I suppose it says a lot how both of us turned out.”

John nodded again. “I agree wholeheartedly with you, Woodhull.”

Abraham was about to say something else when there was a gentle knock on the door. He gave one last playful look of warning in John’s direction before he walked over to the door and opened it.

“Major Hewlett,” he greeted, stepping aside to let him inside.

“Edmund, please,” he insisted, his eyes meeting John’s with a wariness laced in them. “So it’s true, then… I do my best not to listen to wild rumors in local towns, but it seems as they prove correct; you really are keeping Simcoe in here.”

John said nothing, having promised to keep quiet and be polite, but he also tried not to look angry or offended as well.

Abraham tried to wave him off dismissively, not wishing to have this conversation for the hundredth time this week. “It’s just until he gets back on his feet.”

Edmund looked skeptical, appearing to look like he did not believe that for a minute. “Right, you always had your father’s hospitality for the enemy, didn’t you, Abe?” It was a rhetorical question, and Abraham was grateful he didn’t have to answer because Hewlett spoke again not too long after. “It’s of no matter, as long as he does not cause any more conflict by going into town again.”

Abraham gave a nod and a calm smile. “Of course, Edmund. It was simply a one-time occurrence, I assure you. I only needed provisions and didn’t wish to leave Thomas. Can I tempt you with something to drink?”

Hewlett looked displeased at first, but to both men’s surprise, he suddenly nodded. “Yes, I believe that might help this situation at the moment.”

John didn’t mind that they were talking as if he weren’t in the room; this night was important to Abe that Edmund sign the papers, and he wasn’t going to mess this up for him. If it meant being completely ignored for an hour, then so be it. He would sacrifice his dignity if it meant that he could finally, _finally_ , have a friend in Abraham Woodhull.

Abe poured three glasses of the brandy, going around to hand it to Simcoe who gave a grateful smile before he started to sip it. He walked back over to the table and sat down across from Hewlett now, both of them quiet for a few moments.

“You know that it would be amiss if I didn’t warn you what you were getting yourself into in this situation, harboring this… _beast_ after all that he’s done?” He saw the frustration beginning to imprint itself on the younger man and he quickly continued. “It’s come to my knowledge as well that Anna Strong and Ben Tallmadge have also made attempts to forewarn you as well, which is why I will only say it this one time, and drop it here on out.”

Relief touched Abraham’s features now and he gave a weak smile. “Thank you, Edmund,” he nodded gratefully. He observed Simcoe before he felt the urge to stand up for him once more. “And I would be amiss if I did not say that he is a changed man now, and I would like you two to start over with a clean slate.”

Edmund and John both locked eyes and studied each other for a few moments before the former Major finally conceded. “Very well, Abe. I shall consider our past transgressions wiped clean as long as he agrees to do the same.”

“He will,” Abe vouched, nodding.

Edmund wet his lips before looking tense. “I wish to hear it from him.”

Abe looked over at John who looked taken back by finally being encouraged to talk but he gave a nod. “Yes, of course. I agree to start over and forget any and all grudges I once had with you.”

“Excellent,” Edmund nodded, looking pleased, but still cautious. “It’s settled then. Now that that business is out of the way, let’s talk actual business, shall we, Abe?” He placed the papers on the table in front of Abraham, now appearing apprehensive. “Thank you, once again, Abe, for letting me take ownership of Whitehall.”

“Oh, sure,” Abe grabbed the quill nearby and began to sign his name on the papers. “If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you want to go back to England, Hewlett?”

There was a short lull of silence before Edmund cleared his throat. “I am… somewhat ashamed of myself to say that I feel more at home here than I do in England anymore. I’ve pretty much dedicated my entire life to the war, and now that it’s over, I feel as if I belong here instead of my own country.”

“Home isn’t just one dedicated place,” Abe spoke softly, still signing. “It’s wherever you feel safe, or loved. Home is inside of you. I think I felt more at home in Washington’s camp near the end more than in Setauket. Home is wherever you want it to be.”

“That’s… very philosophic of you, Abe,” Edmund remarked indifferently, taking a drink of his brandy.

Abraham finished signing and then handed one copy over to the elder man. “So what will you do now? Do you have any hobbies to keep yourself busy at Whitehall?”

“I believe… I’ll keep looking at the night skies, searching for a home. I have enough hobbies to keep myself busy enough, I believe.”

Abe took a sip of his own alcohol and watched as Simcoe seemed to mimic his own actions. “By the way, I do hope my asking Anna to request you come here instead was not out of turn. If it was, I apologize.”

Edmund shook his head and gave a sad smile. “No, of course it wasn’t out of turn, Abe. Miss. Strong and I have a… complicated history, I admit, but… we’re still able to be good friends. Now that she’s with Caleb Brewster, it makes things somewhat easier for me, strangely enough. I’m happy that she is happy.”

Abraham smiled warmly, nodding in agreement. “They do seem to make quite a good couple, don’t they?”

Edmund gave a chuckle and nodded, silence falling between them again, this time the air felt less thick.

They drank and chatted idly until Edmund finished his brandy and stood up, grabbing the papers. “Right, well… I should be getting back, I suppose. I’ve got some letters to write before turning in.”

“Sure thing, let me walk you out.” Abe led the former Major out of the cabin, closing the door behind him before walking him to his wagon.

“Abe,” Edmund started. “I know what I promised to you in there earlier, but if you need assistance or… anything at all, don’t hesitate to fetch me. I understand that you’re choosing to give Simcoe another chance, but just remember that rabid animals cannot always be tamed, and sometimes, it’s best if they are put down.”

Abraham had to clench his jaws together and bite his tongue just to keep from arguing with him. Instead, not trusting his voice, he gave a nod and said goodnight to Hewlett before heading back inside the cabin, slamming the door a bit harder than intended.

“Something the matter?” John asked curiously, finishing his brandy. If nothing else, he was grateful that it helped to numb his pain a tad.

Abe looked at him and felt like he couldn’t lie to him anymore. This man had seen Abraham’s worst self the second he had put his own pistol to his head. There was no use in hiding anything from him anymore.

“I only wish everyone would stop doubting that you’ve changed. I can _see_ it, I can… hear it in your voice! I know you’ve changed, so why can’t they? I’m getting tired of their doubt all the time. It’s driving me mad.”

John cringed slightly as he sat upright in the chair and looked over at Abe. “You’ve spent time with me, probably more time than any of them have. Even though it was mostly spent trying to maime each other, it was still time, nonetheless. We’ve gotten to know each the other fairly well, I’d say. It will take time for them to see the truth. For now, I believe they only wish to see what they want to see, and their minds won’t be changed if they don’t want them to be.”

Abraham reached over and refilled John’s glass before refilling his own. He plopped Thomas onto his lap and held him gently, occasionally tugging at one of his curls lightly. He sighed and looked over at him.

“Have you ever experienced heartbreak, Simcoe?”

John wasn’t deterred by the sudden change of subject and took a drink of his brandy. “I believe once, but… that might have been more disappointment than heartache. I was going steady with a young woman once, before the war. I thought we were both very happy, but… it turned out only I was, and she announced she was leaving me for someone more… stable, as she put it.”

Abraham watched him. “Did you hurt her?”

“No,” John answered instantly, having known that Woodhull was going to ask that question to him. “I’ve never hurt her. I was too stunned to argue with her of the fact, but… a strange part of me also realized that I wasn’t going to miss her once she left. She was beautiful and kind, but… I was not so much at the time, and now… I understand her impatience. I don’t fault her for her feelings.”

“I’m not sure if I can even picture you loving anyone at all, John,” he replied, taking a drink of brandy.

The other man looked down at his glass, almost sadly before he looked over at Abe, feeling the flutter in his stomach again. “I’m not sure I’ve ever properly loved anyone before,” he confessed. “But… I hope to change that in the future.”

Abraham gave a congenially nod as his lips curved upwards slightly. “I hope to again as well, one day.”

“How did you know you were in love with your betrothed, Mary?”

Abe finished his glass, feeling his head begin to swim dizzily. “She was my brother’s wife before, but… he died in the riots, and then… she agreed to marry me. It wasn’t love at first… but after Thomas was born, I felt… an obligation to her. I felt _something_ for her, but truth be told, I think she loved me more than I could have ever loved her. She deserved better.”

“I believe… some people just aren’t meant to be together, Abraham.”

“I’d drink to that, but… I think I should stop drinking now,” he smirked. “I know it’s early, but I think it’s best if I turn in as well. Help yourself to anything you like, Simcoe.”

“That’s most gracious of you, Abe. Thank you,” he stood up and moved over to Abraham before he half leaned, half guided him towards his bed. “Go ahead and sleep in your bed again. I’m feeling well enough to take the floor.”

Abraham mumbled disagreement but his tone told Simcoe he would take his bed back anyway. He helped Abe in bed before he led small Thomas there as well and then proceeded to make himself comfortable on the floor, adding a few extra cushions to support his broken rib.

He was not yet sleepy, so he spent the next few hours keeping the fire going and occasionally glancing over at Abe to make sure he was sleeping peacefully. He noticed how the younger man whimpered a bit, his body tensing up in the glow of the firelight every now and then, and he wondered what he dreamed about.

Was he dreaming about being caught as a spy?

Or maybe Abe was dreaming about when Mary was still alive, or perhaps he was dreaming about battle and bloodshed.

John hoped that his friend was dreaming about something nice, something that wasn’t battle, bloodshed, death, or anything else of that sort. He hoped Abe found some kind of peace in his dreams but both men were alike in ways no one else understood, that Simcoe had a feeling none of his dreams included peace.

He could hope, though.


End file.
